


A soft click

by Clockwork



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post movie-verse Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Peter finds himself needing to do his job, no matter what pain he knew it would bring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A soft click

Control. 

Peter kept repeating it over to himself time and again through the meeting. Each and every time he thought that Smiley was doing this, or how content in that chair Smiley looked. Except, while the man himself hadn't changed, he wasn't Smiley anymore. He was control.

It had been easier before. Only Smiley himself had been with the Circus, had held a position within that inner circle, before Control had taken the chair. When they had been brought in, the man in that seat had held one name. Control. Now that Smiley held the same chair, so did his name change. Even if to Peter he would always be Smiley. 

Sitting to his right, Peter worked hard to appear attentive and serious, though his attention was much less on the discussion of reassigning to fill those positions left vacant as much as it was on the talk he would be having when this was said and done. Rising when the others did, he raised his glass to toast to the lives lost, yet he only touched his lips to the rim but didn't take a drink. For some missions one needed to ensure their wits were clear and unmuddied by such things as fine whiskey. For others one merely needed to retain control of one's emotions for the sake of all involved.

Peter would have much rather this be a case of the former rather than the later, but sadly that was not to be.

Setting down his glass, he nodded to Sm... Control, and was the first out the door and down the steps. It was a habit long ago ingrained to look to the shadows, spying the butter coloured jacket that was nearly the same shade as his hair. Nodding once to the man that served under him, and had in the past served as more than an underling in Peter's department, Guillam kept waking with the assurance that Ricky would follow in his tracks.

Case in hand, he moved down the hall and around a corner. Eyes traced him, moreso on Ricky who had only recently been cleared of accusations of being a traitor. Peter ignored them all, staying close to the wall and acting for all the world as if his heart wasn't racing as it had when he'd last seen Tarr, albeit for entirely different reasons to cause that cardiac distress. 

Stepping into his new office, he waited until Tarr followed him before closing the door with a soft click.

"Please, have a seat."

"That bad, is it," he asked, trying to sound carefree about it, but even as Tarr dropped down into the chair, sprawling with his legs spread wide and taking up more in the room than just the chair by his sheer presence, he already had his finger pressed to his mouth, small teeth gnawing at the ragged edges of his cuticle.

Peter didn't say a word, circling around the desk and carefully stowing his case beneath it. Still standing, he undid the button on his coat, taking the time to loosen his his cuffs before settling delicately on the chair behind the desk.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Control has briefed me on the story you told him, the one that has been confirmed for us recently"

Even to his own ears Peter's voice sounded stiff and hollow, much more than professional. Certainly never the sort of tones he'd used with Ricky in the past. Those times were gone though, or so he believed, and now, more than ever, he had a level to maintain for those around him.

"You mean the part where you learned I hadn't defected, and that this entire time I've only been working for the Circus and the good of the Crown," Ricky asked, assurance returning to his tones in the days since Peter had first assaulted him in Smiley's home.

"Yes, that part. You must understand why we thought what we did."

"I know why they thought what they did," he said, hitching his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the rest of MI6 though he didn't spare a glance, eyes fixed on Peter the entire time. "What I never got is how you believed it."

That was certainly taking the direct approach.

"How I believed it is irrelevant, as is the reasons why you think I should have any belief concerning agents than anyone else."

"Oh get off your high horse," he said, shaking his head as Ricky shifted suddenly, practically lunging forward in the seat, leaning closer to Peter. "You believed it because it was easier than knowing you couldn't do a damn thing about it, and so you let them demonize me."

"You demonized yourself, Ricky," he snapped, mirroring the other man's posture. "You never thought to contact me? Control? Anyone else? Don't give me some story about fearing breaking cover," he said, raising his hand to stop just such an argument. "You had no trouble breaking protocol when you stayed there to have your fling with someone that well could have assisted us."

"It was more than a damn fling, Guillam."

"Just like you said we were," he demanded, using the words as an assault of his own. 

Ricky pointed at Peter, the rest of his hand clenched into a fist. "That," he hissed, eyes narrowed. "Is different and you damn well know it even if you're denying it now. Keep playing your games, Peter. Believe whatever you want but you know that we were more than some fling, and you are the one that ended things when you got scared of me outting you to Control and God and everyone else."

"She's dead."

It wasn't how he'd meant to reveal it. Honestly he'd meant to take this slow, to help Ricky through it but when the pain in his chest had threatened, he'd attacked rather than hurting more over another man.

"You're a bastard, Peter Guillam. A damn bastard," he spat, pushing to his feet, lunging more like it and if he'd hit Peter, he was certain he wouldn't have had time to get away. Nor would he have tried. Tarr hadn't tried either, turning for the door. 

"Ricky, please. Stop."

Barely managing the words, moving around the desk before he could stop himself. His hand went to catch the other man's arm, plucking at the sleeve of his coat like a skittish bird even as the other hand went to the door though against Tarr he'd never be able to physically fight to keep it closed. 

"I didn't mean..."

"Is it true?"

"Why would I lie about something like that?"

"For the same reason you threw it in my face," he said, never once diverting his gaze from the door, unwilling to even take a chance to look into those Siamese cat eyes with Peter standing so close. "Does hurting me make you feel better?"

Peter nearly choked on those words, making a small sound like a child snuffling. 

"Bloody hell, Ricky," he whispered, moving in a step closer, crowding against the other man's arm as he let his hand slip away. "Hurting you has never done anything but make me hurt. I lost you because of this job. I wouldn't lie to you about losing someone you... you cared about," he said, straightening a bit and stepping back as if he'd realized he'd over stepped his boundaries.

Ricky barely turned his head, looking at Peter from the corner of his eye. "How?"

"Jim..." He held up a hand to stay words. "They thought he was the one she had turned to. He was in the country at the same time, and they knew about your call about the source, about Irina. They did their math wrong."

Ricky rubbed a hand over his mouth. Peter didn't miss the way it trembled.

"If you're needing some time to re..."

"I don't need time off," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Had enough of that and everyone still looks at me cross eyed. I'll be here in the morning."

He opened the door and Peter didn't argue, didn't fight him leaving this time. He stepped back and inclined his head in understanding.

Ricky stepped out into the hall, looking back to Guillam.

"You still have that bottle of Laphroaig?"

Peter chuffed slightly, almost a chuckle. "Given we agreed neither could drink it alone, yes I do?"

Ricky seemed a bit chuffed in his own right to hear that. He nodded once.

"Pour mine with water. I'll see you at ten," he said, strolling down the hallway without a single glance back.

Peter watched his retreating form until Tarr turned the corner and then he shut the door with a soft click.

**Author's Note:**

> Some friends have asked me if I thought they told Ricky about Irina's death. I'm not sure how/if the book handled this, but though I thought they had with Ricky standing there as he was, I felt the desire to write Peter finding himself stuck with the job and no way of revealing why this is cruel punishment for all parties involved.


End file.
